Last week, I described Fantastic Four #588 as one of the emotionally charged comics I’ve ever read, a single issue that pulls on the heartstrings in ways that most superhero books just don’t. Ever. Moreover, I found the book to be an especially affective insight into the loss of a loved one because of its omission of narration, dialogue, and exposition. Instead, the reader must tacitly absorb the death of Johnny Storm through Nick Dragotta’s art.
I was so impressed by Dragotta’s work that I visited his website, hoping to learn more. And while his blog is definitely worth checking out, it just wasn’t enough for me. Ravenous, I decided to ask him for an interview. To my delight, he obliged.
What follows are Nick Dragotta’s incredibly candid, insightful, and entertaining answers to my buffoonish questions. More than just a skilled artist (and he definitely is), Dragotta proves to be a down-to-earth chum and all-around decent human being.
[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]
At this point, it’s old news: Johnny Storm bit the dust. All that remains of the Human Torch are embers, flickering reminders of a hero that lit up the Marvel Universe for the better part of fifty years. Dedicated readers of OL know that both my brother and I have been wholly enamored of Jonathan Hickman’s Fantastic Four epic. In addition to covering nearly every Hickman-penned issue, I sang praises for The Last Stand of Johnny Storm and then Caffeine Powered offered his own pontification.
So at this point, one has to wonder: can anything else be said?
In reading what is being billed as the final issue of Fantastic Four, it’s clear that Hickman has nothing else to say.
But he’s got plenty to show.
Close the door and turn out the light. If you use your mind’s eye, you’ll see an infinitely tendriled machination coming your way. Don’t even sweat that, okay? It’s my mind-parts worming their way into your synaptic cores. They’ll be done soon, and when they’re gone, you’ll have the latest edition of Variant Covers in your mushy grey matter. The column that blathers on, and on, and on in verbose unedited prose about the comic books I’m interested in this week.
Action Comics #898.
Are you still being an asshole, or are you reading this comic book yet? This title is the thunder. The culmination of a talented writer, a gorgeous penciler, and the desire to tell a hilarious, absurd storyline. In the past few months, Luthor has shot the shit with Death, gotten into a philosophical debate with the Joker, and beaten some serious ass. It’s a hodgepodge of wit sexy panels. I dismissed it at first because I’m a dismissive douchebag who thought that sticking Luthor in his own titles just didn’t make sense. Was a money grab. All of that has been thrown to the wind, cast aside like autumn leaves. This week Luthor is going to run into Larfleeze, and I imagine the alien avarice motherfucker and him are going to engage in yet another bizarre encounter. Cornell just wants to trot Luthor into the path of one prominent DC character after the next. I’m down with that.
Shit I Should Be Reading: Scalped #46, Morning Glories #7.
There’s a good amount of comic books currently running that I’m not up to date with. Call it a function of having to read floaty bullshit about paratexts in the influence of meaning on a copy of DeFoe’s Robinson Crusoe. I’m not frontin’, I’m awash in that gunk. So time is limited. Whenever the schooling gods smile upon me, I hope to begin to read Scalped. Everything I’ve heard about it informs me that a) it’s fucking awesome and b) that I’m a choad-stuffed choad for having not gotten around to it yet.
Then there’s Morning Glories. I’ve heard almost exclusively awesome things about the title, save for the inestimably rageful description of it as “LOST” meets Zac Efron’s dance moves. Sir Rager is probably correct, but it didn’t stop me from whoring out $10 for the first trade last week. It sits amongst a bunch of other trades, waiting for me to crack their spine and eat their souls.
But for those in the what, Morning Glories #7 comes out this week. For many I assume it gets their glands flowing with blood and vigor.
Animated All-Star Superman.
I know you’re asking, what the fuck is an animated movie doing in a comic book column. Well, I’ll tell you, inquiring lads and lasses. It’s a scientific fact that All-Star Superman is the greatest Superman of the last forever. And while I haven’t been able to personally confirm it, a good amount of websites are commenting that the transition from panel and text to celluloid has gone flawlessly. This is the story that a thousand Morrison bonerbots (hi!) splooged over, only animated.
I didn’t pay attention to the first three-thousand glowing articles about it, but eventually it overwhelmed me. My forcefield eroded, I was helpless to its allure.